Flight from Sydney to Milky Way
Softly as the cradle the silky cottonwool of sound
emblanketed the world of sound. Inducing sleep.
The massed waves of land stretched to the huge bowl
of pink horizon
and the huger mass of tangible sky beyond the fountain
which spewed forth gushes of stars
that rushed forth and covered the increasing dark.
A void sprinkled with glittering white.
Pulsating, without meaning, on the other side of
the glass far away.
And below, the white jewel.
A diamond glitter which was a city.
People no more than a glint
covered by a speck, no larger than a single cell.
Or whole streets that appeared like chains of silver,
an ornament on a young woman
a gift from a lover
a whole city.
But all of that which was real
was suddenly not.
Softened by the lethargic drone of the cabin
and hidden behind a long thin wing
bouncing softly, and flicking
on, off.
Bathing itself momentarily in red rose light,
and then in the darker light.
Slowly my mind was taken much further
than the edge of that wing which stuck out so short
into the depths of nothingness
I could see up into the stars, the galaxies, the
universe.
The craft stood still in awe of the timelessness
which was so real,
yet so far away, yet so close.
The fin sliced it's way through the sticky moist,
pressing darkness.
Loosing it's grip on the tangible air which filed
away in strips of dripping white,
and spun slowly, twisting and changing away into
the void before crashing behind the next black window into the unknown.
Freed from the cottonwool of sound, that all enveloping
cloud.
Freed also from the savage white
and blue and maroon velvet,
cream plastic tray
and travel brochures
which seemed to entangle the beast's stomach
and which were distributed so recklessly
by ever appeasing hostesses
in hollow plastic smiles
which might have been part of the craft itself
a machine. Not so much of beauty or splendor
but of necessity.
Designed for function.
And so I escaped once more to the universe
and the diamond jewel around my beauty's neck
and smiled at the trickle of a stellar fountain
and drifted into the embracing warmth.
Softly as the cradle the silky cottonwool of sound
emblanketed the world of sound. Inducing sleep.
The massed waves of land stretched to the huge bowl
of void
and the huger mass of tangible sky beyond the fountain
that was everything.
This poem was "composed" when I was in (or over) Melbourne
just after the National Band Competition of 1998. We had a flight that
took off from Melbourne at dusk, about 5:30 or 6pm. I took the mind journey
described here about 3 or 4 times in 20 minutes, and then wrote the poem
in cruise flight at 31,000 ft on an Ansett Airbus A320. I designed the
poem as cyclic because my inspiration was cyclic (going from one thought
to another and back again). Hence the first stanza being the same as the
last. the thing about the hostesses, is not about Ansett hostesses, they
were just fine, but I'm the type of person who doesn't like to be disturbed
when I'm deep in thought. I really dislike when I get food stuffed in front
of me when I'm trying to compose poems, especially when I'm not hungry.
(again nothing to do with Ansett's service). But there you are. the poem
is there and no harm done. (just like in the poem, the persona, after his
brief interruption, goes back into his thought world, and resumes, relatively
unscathed).
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